05-17-2022, 12:07 PM
The Race.
Amongst the thunder of powerful hooves, the multitude of cheering folk from many counties and the profane cursing of the riders
around her, a mumbling Peggy Powler clung to the small saddle of Diabolus and hoped-to-Herne that her behind wouldn't feel the
grass before finishing the Summertide and Barnstead Hunt Horse Race. For her own small input of the surrounding desecration
of verbal good manners, if one could lean close to the little Witch's galloping horse, one would hear Peggy hissing the the word
'Bugger' over and over again as the flapping rim of her tightly-tied hat visually aped the cacophonous sounds of the running.
Daring to raise her head, she saw that the first hurdle was fast approaching. There's were maybe many as eight horses ahead
of her, but the glimpse of spruce branches reminded her to focus on the words Pommer had said after his clandestine research
of the racecourse on Lord Tatem's land. Two planks, one higher than the other and hidden under a garnish of bound evergreen.
"Get me over the first one n' Ah'll promise a lump of sugar in yer' feed tonight" Peggy spluttered as she felt the impact of another
horse pushing to get into position. "Get out of the way, you Fussock" Orville Tipps shouted as he urged his dark bay onwards.
The fence was high and in fact, higher than what the Last Witch of Underhill had understood from the little Sprite, there was no
way a horse could leap this... but her thoughts of altitudinous ramparts and a hoofed creature's ability to ascend such barriers
left her as the snorting Diabolus and Peggy Powler took to flight. Up she went with her legs sticking out in front of her and as
the raincloud-free wild blue yonder rushed towards the elevated-necromancer, all she could think about was that she couldn't
stop her poncho from billowing.
...................................................
Not too far off and in the exclusive stand above the enclosure where the winner of the race would be awarded, Baron Nicholas
Alexander Kessler gasped and smiled to himself as he peered through his expensive gold-adorned telescope. Standing with
his long-time friend Lord Grayson, the old pair witnessed Peggy suddenly levitate as Diabolus made the jump and involuntarily
display her lack of underwear. It was fleeting, but the memories of the grinning duo's drunken regalement with a certain Carnival
clairvoyant long ago, would tarry longer.
...................................................
Peggy's right arm ached as she slowly climbed the reins that tethered her to the hurtling animal and grasping the rim of the tiny
saddle, she gave thanks to whatever Fates that had placed in this crazy situation that nobody had caught sight of her au naturel
under-carriage. Seeing the next hurdle was coming up fast, the panting augurer jammed the strap of her satchel over where a
pommel would normally be. It wasn't much, but it made Peggy feel a little more secure as she bumped along the track to another
scary fence.
Feeling this faint sense of self-preservation allowed the little Witch to quickly scan the group that made it over the first hurdle.
She couldn't see the rider that had called her a Fussock and guessed his brown-hued mount had decided that common sense
was better than valour. Peggy hoped Tipps had landed on his ass and hard. Taking some small solace from the thought she'd
bettered someone more proficient in this noble sport, the warlock of the road watched suspiciously as two other horses closed
in on Diabolus and with a quick glance at one of them, Peggy recognised the angry-looking jockey from the starting-line.
As the galloping trio approached the second hurdle, the ornate 'T' on the rider's saddle-flap told the bouncing sorceress who the
patron was of the man on the sorrel-coloured gelding. But Wendell Penn's next words told far more than any branded-leather ever
could. "Get off this course, harlot, you're a disgrace to the Lord Tatem's property..." Penn barked as he leaned in and brandished
his whip close to Peggy's wide-eyed face. "...I'll only warn you once" he added menacingly and went back to commanding his
castrated racehorse.
Feeling her inner-gyroscope relating the more-important information that she was leaving the ground again, Peggy clutched the
saddle and believed for a moment she'd succeeded in retaining her seating. Then the sky came closer once more and the thin
leather placenta was the only bond keeping the Witch from finding terra firma or a flailing hoof. "Yer Bugger!" she shrieked as
she spun in mid-air and something that had never occurred before in the far-off opulent stadium of rich folk, took place.
...................................................
Never in all the years Baron Kessler had frequented the Summertide and Barnstead Hunt Horse Race had he called out for a
favoured horse or rider. But the old man suddenly beamed with happiness, slapped his colleague on the shoulder and shouted
"Come on yer' Bugger!"
Later, it was noted that at least two of those who attend the well-to-do Meet merely to nuture their respective social standings,
stared down at a list of riders in their hands to see who the elderly richling was cheering for.
...................................................
Meanwhile, Diabolus landed confidently on the other side of the second fence and almost at the same time, his passenger
-sans confidence, arrived from her dizzying air-dervish with a dull "Uh" back onto the leather pillion and immediately grabbed
the edge of the saddle again. Catching her breath, Peggy hugged the seat and stifled a sudden giggle that wished to escape
her throat. Sometimes, the enemy of fear clothes itself as a clown.
Leaning slightly leftwards, Diabolus continued in his quest to bring joy to the ethereal nightly visitors of his stall and prove to
himself that he was what his mother would be proud of. Leaning over and holding on for grim-life, his bare-assed chuckling
rider continued to wish she'd kept to Calder's Way.
For Stanley Dawes, seeing the vague shapes leap the fences from his place against the neatly-painted barrier caused his
heart to race at almost the same pace as the horses. Pip assured him twice that he'd spotted Peggy and Diabolus clear
the second hurdle and all Stanley could do was fumble for his non-existent waistcoat pockets.
"She looks so alone out there" Farra had murmured as he spied the little form hunkered on the back of the black stallion, but
surprisingly, his Boss gave him a smile and tousled the small stable-hand's hair. "That's Peggy Powler, the others will have
respect for her, me-lad" Stanley softly replied as Pip, Jimmy Dougie and Farra all passed along silent communication between
each other with their eyes that suggested otherwise.
...................................................
Ahead lay the peril they call The Fall and not seeing the reddish-hued horse with the title 'Grandee's Valour' slowly moving to be
beside the giggling spellbinder, Peggy Powler ventured the notion that the next obstacle could be easier if she just held Diabolus'
mane. Lifting her body slightly from the seat, she grabbed her steed's wind-blown cockscomb and whispered "Take heed me-dear
lad, the ground on tuther' side is further away than yer' think". The wily sorceress' advice was issued just as Wendell Penn's scything
riding-crop suddenly came into view.
Amongst the thunder of powerful hooves, the multitude of cheering folk from many counties and the profane cursing of the riders
around her, a mumbling Peggy Powler clung to the small saddle of Diabolus and hoped-to-Herne that her behind wouldn't feel the
grass before finishing the Summertide and Barnstead Hunt Horse Race. For her own small input of the surrounding desecration
of verbal good manners, if one could lean close to the little Witch's galloping horse, one would hear Peggy hissing the the word
'Bugger' over and over again as the flapping rim of her tightly-tied hat visually aped the cacophonous sounds of the running.
Daring to raise her head, she saw that the first hurdle was fast approaching. There's were maybe many as eight horses ahead
of her, but the glimpse of spruce branches reminded her to focus on the words Pommer had said after his clandestine research
of the racecourse on Lord Tatem's land. Two planks, one higher than the other and hidden under a garnish of bound evergreen.
"Get me over the first one n' Ah'll promise a lump of sugar in yer' feed tonight" Peggy spluttered as she felt the impact of another
horse pushing to get into position. "Get out of the way, you Fussock" Orville Tipps shouted as he urged his dark bay onwards.
The fence was high and in fact, higher than what the Last Witch of Underhill had understood from the little Sprite, there was no
way a horse could leap this... but her thoughts of altitudinous ramparts and a hoofed creature's ability to ascend such barriers
left her as the snorting Diabolus and Peggy Powler took to flight. Up she went with her legs sticking out in front of her and as
the raincloud-free wild blue yonder rushed towards the elevated-necromancer, all she could think about was that she couldn't
stop her poncho from billowing.
...................................................
Not too far off and in the exclusive stand above the enclosure where the winner of the race would be awarded, Baron Nicholas
Alexander Kessler gasped and smiled to himself as he peered through his expensive gold-adorned telescope. Standing with
his long-time friend Lord Grayson, the old pair witnessed Peggy suddenly levitate as Diabolus made the jump and involuntarily
display her lack of underwear. It was fleeting, but the memories of the grinning duo's drunken regalement with a certain Carnival
clairvoyant long ago, would tarry longer.
...................................................
Peggy's right arm ached as she slowly climbed the reins that tethered her to the hurtling animal and grasping the rim of the tiny
saddle, she gave thanks to whatever Fates that had placed in this crazy situation that nobody had caught sight of her au naturel
under-carriage. Seeing the next hurdle was coming up fast, the panting augurer jammed the strap of her satchel over where a
pommel would normally be. It wasn't much, but it made Peggy feel a little more secure as she bumped along the track to another
scary fence.
Feeling this faint sense of self-preservation allowed the little Witch to quickly scan the group that made it over the first hurdle.
She couldn't see the rider that had called her a Fussock and guessed his brown-hued mount had decided that common sense
was better than valour. Peggy hoped Tipps had landed on his ass and hard. Taking some small solace from the thought she'd
bettered someone more proficient in this noble sport, the warlock of the road watched suspiciously as two other horses closed
in on Diabolus and with a quick glance at one of them, Peggy recognised the angry-looking jockey from the starting-line.
As the galloping trio approached the second hurdle, the ornate 'T' on the rider's saddle-flap told the bouncing sorceress who the
patron was of the man on the sorrel-coloured gelding. But Wendell Penn's next words told far more than any branded-leather ever
could. "Get off this course, harlot, you're a disgrace to the Lord Tatem's property..." Penn barked as he leaned in and brandished
his whip close to Peggy's wide-eyed face. "...I'll only warn you once" he added menacingly and went back to commanding his
castrated racehorse.
Feeling her inner-gyroscope relating the more-important information that she was leaving the ground again, Peggy clutched the
saddle and believed for a moment she'd succeeded in retaining her seating. Then the sky came closer once more and the thin
leather placenta was the only bond keeping the Witch from finding terra firma or a flailing hoof. "Yer Bugger!" she shrieked as
she spun in mid-air and something that had never occurred before in the far-off opulent stadium of rich folk, took place.
...................................................
Never in all the years Baron Kessler had frequented the Summertide and Barnstead Hunt Horse Race had he called out for a
favoured horse or rider. But the old man suddenly beamed with happiness, slapped his colleague on the shoulder and shouted
"Come on yer' Bugger!"
Later, it was noted that at least two of those who attend the well-to-do Meet merely to nuture their respective social standings,
stared down at a list of riders in their hands to see who the elderly richling was cheering for.
...................................................
Meanwhile, Diabolus landed confidently on the other side of the second fence and almost at the same time, his passenger
-sans confidence, arrived from her dizzying air-dervish with a dull "Uh" back onto the leather pillion and immediately grabbed
the edge of the saddle again. Catching her breath, Peggy hugged the seat and stifled a sudden giggle that wished to escape
her throat. Sometimes, the enemy of fear clothes itself as a clown.
Leaning slightly leftwards, Diabolus continued in his quest to bring joy to the ethereal nightly visitors of his stall and prove to
himself that he was what his mother would be proud of. Leaning over and holding on for grim-life, his bare-assed chuckling
rider continued to wish she'd kept to Calder's Way.
For Stanley Dawes, seeing the vague shapes leap the fences from his place against the neatly-painted barrier caused his
heart to race at almost the same pace as the horses. Pip assured him twice that he'd spotted Peggy and Diabolus clear
the second hurdle and all Stanley could do was fumble for his non-existent waistcoat pockets.
"She looks so alone out there" Farra had murmured as he spied the little form hunkered on the back of the black stallion, but
surprisingly, his Boss gave him a smile and tousled the small stable-hand's hair. "That's Peggy Powler, the others will have
respect for her, me-lad" Stanley softly replied as Pip, Jimmy Dougie and Farra all passed along silent communication between
each other with their eyes that suggested otherwise.
...................................................
Ahead lay the peril they call The Fall and not seeing the reddish-hued horse with the title 'Grandee's Valour' slowly moving to be
beside the giggling spellbinder, Peggy Powler ventured the notion that the next obstacle could be easier if she just held Diabolus'
mane. Lifting her body slightly from the seat, she grabbed her steed's wind-blown cockscomb and whispered "Take heed me-dear
lad, the ground on tuther' side is further away than yer' think". The wily sorceress' advice was issued just as Wendell Penn's scything
riding-crop suddenly came into view.
Edith Head Gives Good Wardrobe.